


Glass Hearts

by girlwithaplan



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, best boyfriend marcus pike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwithaplan/pseuds/girlwithaplan
Summary: Marcus is working on a tough case and it takes a turn neither of you expect.
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

It’s late.

The clock on the wall says 11:15. You’re normally in bed by now when you have to work the next day, but you just can’t make yourself sleep until you see him. It feels a little silly to be so attached to him after only 6 months, but Marcus matches your enthusiasm with a tentative hopefulness that makes your heart ache for him. You know he’s had his heart broken before; he told you about his ex wife, about Lisbon. The way he spoke about them, still full of respect and understanding, really endeared him to you early on. Marcus wasn’t the guy to call his exes crazy by any means. You felt immediately at ease with him, you felt confident even if things hadn’t worked out, he’d never speak badly of you. 

And now? Half a year with this man in your life and your brain refuses to even begin to process anything but a happy future with Marcus. He’d floated the idea of you moving in with him a month ago, and he’d let the words fall out so casually that you knew if you hesitated, he’d let the idea go and not chase it. But you grabbed it before it could float too far and asked, 

“Really? You’re not gonna be sick of seeing me all the time at work and at home?” 

Marcus’ smile was so wide it cracked open something inside of you that filled you to the top with affection for him. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it,” he says softly and you know he’s telling the truth. Marcus is careful, guarded at times, but he’s never lied to you. You don’t get the feeling he would even if it would benefit him. But he’s been pulled close before, gotten comfortable enough to start opening up only for his partners to loosen their grip and let him fall. And Marcus cares about you so much, but he doesn’t think he can handle another rejection. 

But you know that, you can see it, and it makes you want to hold him, promise him you’re not leaving and there’s no other man waiting in the wings to whisk you away like Lisbon. He’s it for you as far as you’re concerned. So you tell him yes and kiss him breathless and within a week your life is completely intertwined with his. The first few weeks are bliss and getting to spend your evenings and morning with Marcus feels like a dream. 

This week, however, he’s been away a lot. You also work at the bureau, in a data analysis position that doesn’t require much travel, so you get it. You don’t know the nitty gritty of this particular case but you know for art thieves, these guys are sophisticated. Marcus works on the floor above you and they’ve been doing field work every day this week. He’s been leaving right when you get up and coming home after you’ve fallen asleep. It’s Thursday night now and you just want to see him with your eyes, feel him under your hands for just a minute before you try to rest. 

As soon as you let your eyes slip close and start to doze, a key slides through the lock and your boyfriend enters, trying not to wake you. He obviously thinks you’re in bed upstairs, but as he sets his bag down on the counter and gets himself a glass of water, he notices the lamp is on in the living room. He peers over the side of the couch and can’t help himself from grinning as he sees you, asleep, curled over the armrest like you’d been trying to stay upright. He sheds his suit jacket, leaving it hanging on the back of a kitchen chair and comes to kneel down in front of you. 

“Hey sleeping beauty,” he says in a hushed tone, not wanting to startle you. His fingers stroke your arm softly and you sit up straight, mumbling his name and rubbing your eyes. 

“It’s just me, baby,” he says, smiling sweetly and grabbing your hand to pull you up. He starts to say something else but he’s cut off by your arms sliding around his middle, hugging him tight. You’re still half asleep when you mutter into his shoulder, 

“Know you’re busy but just wanna see you for a minute.” You rub your face against him and Marcus melts, hugging you back just as fiercely. His cheek rests on top of your head and he’s holding back a few tears because, if he’s being honest with himself, he’s felt guilty about being away so much this week. And with the guilt rose some self-doubt that Marcus tried to ignore, but knowing you stayed up just to see him? Just to hug him before you go to bed? His insecurities dissolve now that he’s got you in his arms. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, keeping you close to his side as he steers the both of you up the stairs toward your bedroom. You don’t argue, you’re barely cognizant of the steps you’re taking and it’s all you can do to yank the covers back before burrowing into the sheets, one eye peaked open to watch Marcus undress. Finally, he slips into bed in just his boxers and kisses you softly, and you can tell he wants to keep going but he’s so tired. With one last peck on his lips, you flip onto your side so he’ll spoon you. When he does, you can’t help but sigh at the feeling of all his warm, soft skin against your back. 

Earlier, you’d daydreamed wistfully about him coming in stressed from his long days and losing himself in your body, consuming you with his downright sinful kisses, and you’d nearly texted him to tell him as much. But you knew he was stressed out. You could wait. And once he was finished with this particular case, it wouldn’t take any convincing for him to spend a weekend in bed with you. 

Marcus breathes a soft sigh into the back of your neck and you know he’s out. You wiggle a little to get comfortable and he cuddles closer to you in his sleep. 

“I love you, Marcus,” you whisper into the darkness, squeezing his arm around your waist before you join him in sleep, hoping tomorrow will bring an end to this case so you can have more nights like this. 

…

The sound of the door closing wakes you up in the morning and you groan, rolling over and pushing your face into Marcus’ pillow for a second. You’re kind of glad he isn’t home at the moment to witness you acting so weird and clingy, but you hope he knows you’re thinking about him. The alarm starts beeping and you reluctantly climb out of bed to get ready for your day. 

Waiting up for Marcus was the absolute right decision; you feel more rested than you have all week. You make a mental note to tell him; you love the way his eyes light up when you say anything you appreciate about him. One day at the office a few weeks ago, he asked you to come eat lunch with him and he’d already brought your favorite takeout. 

“You’re so thoughtful,” you’d gushed, coming around his desk to kiss his cheek. 

“Oh it’s nothing,” he’d murmured, but the warmth in his eyes when he looked up at you betrayed how much he was enjoying your praise. Since then, you’d made a point to remark on little things he did for you just to catch him off guard, throw him a little confidence boost. Marcus was at his core a confident man, but he was hesitant now. Too many disappointments had beat him down a little and you had made it your secret mission to help him build him back up. He always made you feel so wanted, so safe, it was only fair to return the favor. 

Before you can forget, you send him a text since you know it’s not likely you’ll see him today, 

_I know you’re busy so don’t worry if you can’t respond._

Marcus has a tendency to worry about communication and you want to reassure him that you’re not expecting anything while he’s working so hard. You send another message, hoping it will make him smile when he reads it. 

_Just know I’m thinking about you today like I do every day. 💕 Hope you slept as well as I did last night. Love you_ _💋_

As you go to slide your phone in your bag, you stop and admire your lock screen. It’s a selfie at an outdoor concert he took you to the same weekend you moved in. The weather was perfect and he looked so handsome in the golden hour light that you insisted he take a photo with you. He only protested lightly before he gave in. You squished your cheek against his and smiled, mouth closed like you normally did. After you’d taken a few, Marcus stole your phone, held it at a better angle with his long arm and put his hand on your waist. He tickled your ribs right as the camera clicked and the picture turned out perfectly. You’re mid-laugh, eyes closed, and Marcus is looking at you with such fondness it makes your stomach flutter. You asked him at the time why he’d done that and he said, 

“You never smile with your whole face in pictures, but I think you should. Your smile is so pretty and your laugh is even better.” 

The way you kissed him when he said that might not have been entirely appropriate for your very public setting at the time, but Marcus certainly didn’t complain. 

You tuck the phone into your bag and head out the door, thinking about how you’re so gone for him it would feel ridiculous if you weren’t certain he was just as smitten with you. 

…

The drive to work is uneventful and you hear your phone ding with a text just as you pull into the parking garage. You can’t look at it because your normal spot near the elevator is occupied by a large van with blacked out windows. Odd, you think, but you’re right on time for work so there’s not much time to dwell. You decide to take the stairs instead and there’s something already at your workstation when you sit down. It’s a green tea from the coffee shop Marcus goes to and it’s still warm. 

When you pick it up there’s a piece of paper underneath with a pencil sketch of two hands intertwined. There’s also a simple signature: love, MP. You recognize it, he signs all his drawings and paintings with just his initials. Tears spring to your eyes before you can help it because you know Marcus draws, he’s let you look at his sketchbook. He’s even drawn you before (his sketch of your side profile made you rethink your lifelong hatred of it), but he’s never drawn something specifically for you. It’s just a small pencil sketch under a coffee cup, but it means so much to you. You immediately tuck it into the empty photo frame on your desk and dab at your eyes a little before pulling your phone back out to see if he replied. 

_Love you too, can’t wait to see you tonight._

You sit down in your chair and you know you’re smiling like an idiot but you don’t care. All your life, you thought catching a guy like Marcus was impossible, you weren’t even sure men like him existed. And even though it’s taken some work to get him to start opening up, every time you see another piece of him you fall more and more in love. It might consume you one day, but you don’t think you’ll mind too much. 

The day goes by fairly quickly after that, you usually spend Fridays tying up loose ends and making sure nothing major is going to go wrong before you go home to enjoy your weekend. You don’t hear from Marcus until about four pm, right when you’re getting bored and tired and ready for 5 o’clock to roll around so you can high-tail it out of there. He calls you and he must be driving because he sounds far away when you pick up, 

“Hi!” you say enthusiastically, hoping he has good news. 

He sighs and greets you with a dejected, 

“Hey baby, how’s your day?” 

You know the deflection when you hear it, but you give him a little. 

“Oh you know, just typical Friday stuff. What’s going on with your case?” He sighs again and doesn’t respond for a second, so you press a little, 

“Everything okay?” 

He speaks up this time, sounding tired, 

“Yeah it’s fine, we just hit a dead end with our guys. I can’t go into it right now but we kind of lost the trail, so to speak.” You nod like he can see you before you say, 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Well,” he says, “we’ll try another strategy, but we all agreed we need a break so I’m going to be home in about fifteen minutes. I’ll be waiting when you get here.” 

You can hear the happiness in his tone and you wish it was time for you to leave, but you make a habit of staying until five o’clock on Fridays just to make sure everything’s in order for the weekend team.

“I can’t wait to see you for more than five minutes,” you tell him, giggling. The two of you talk until Marcus is actually home, then you hang up to finish up your tasks so you can join him. 

As you’re leaving for the day, you grab the drawing Marcus left for you and tuck it into your pocket, you think you might keep it on your car’s dash to look at when you miss him. You’re feeling spent, so you decide to take the elevator back down to the parking garage and when you exit, that same van is still in your spot. You frown and start to cross the garage when you feel eyes on you.

Suddenly, a man dressed in all back steps around the van and looks straight at you. You freeze, waiting to see what he’ll do. He starts to move and you try to keep walking but another man cuts you off and now you’re stuck between them with nowhere to go. One of them speaks, 

“Your boyfriend knows too much about us.” You manage to stay calm and ask, 

“What are you talking about?” 

Both men laugh and move closer. You clutch your phone in one hand and your bag in the other, unsure what you can do to get out of whatever is happening. 

“Agent Pike is very good at his job,” one of the men tells you as the other one grabs your arm harshly, causing you to drop your bag. You’re too scared to even try to scream and you go rigid in his grip. “But we know he’s weak for you. And we want him out of our hair.” 

The man who grabbed you starts to pull you toward the van and you panic, thrashing and flailing to try to get away. You can’t stop him from dragging you, but you’re making enough of a scene that the man who was talking to you clamps a hand over your mouth and keeps it there until you’re tossed in the van. A third man is waiting inside to tie your hands and he takes your phone from you as he does so. The one who seems to be in charge takes it and chuckles when he tells you, 

“You’re going to call Agent Pike and tell him to bring his information to us or we will hurt something of his.”

You feel your courage come roaring back and you spit at your captor, 

“I’m not going to do that, asshole!” 

The van starts moving and the guy who tied your hands releases you just as the van rolls over a bump and you smack your head on the door, hard. Tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them as the pain rushes through your skull. 

“Fine,” he tells you, “I’ll do it and make sure he can hear your cries in the background. That should get him moving, huh?” 

…

Marcus is waiting for you and the pizza he ordered for dinner to arrive when his phone rings. He picks up as soon as he sees it’s you and what he was going to say dies on his tongue as he hears you sniffing and taking short, panicked breaths on the other end.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, “what’s wrong, where are you?” He hears your breathing become more frantic and a muffled cry and now he’s starting to panic too, already grabbing his shoes as he tries to get you to explain, 

“Talk to me, baby, what’s happening?” He nearly jumps when a distinctly male voice cuts in, 

“Good evening, Agent Pike, we have been dancing around each other all week haven’t we?” 

He knows instantly who it is and now he’s grabbing his gun and running out of the house toward his car. 

“What is going on?” he asks, pretty sure from his team’s recon that it’s the ringleader of the gang of art thieves he’s been after. He hears another loud cry and he asks even though he knows the answer, “Who is that? Who’s making that noise?” 

“Well, Pike, you got far too close to us yesterday and we like making money the way we do, so we decided to take something of yours to help negotiations.”

Marcus feels like his world is shattering around him when he growls, 

“Don’t you dare fucking hurt her, she has nothing to do with any of this.” 

The man on the other end laughs and promises, “If you give me what I want, no harm will come to her.” 

“What do you want?” Marcus has already started recording the conversation and is flying toward the office, knowing he’ll need backup before he can go in, despite his instincts screaming at him to get to you, no matter what. 

…

The concrete floor you’ve been sitting on for hours is so cold your ass has long since gone numb. You’re blindfolded and gagged and your arms ache from being tied behind you for so long in the same position. They’ve offered you water once, after they slapped you with Marcus on the phone to prove their seriousness.

You can feel your split lit pushing against your gag and it hurts the most, you can’t move without the cut re-opening. You’re scared shitless, but other than the one hit, they’ve mostly left you alone. Just collateral, they’d told your boyfriend, a guarantee they’d get what they wanted. From what you could overhead, they’ve never done anything this extreme before. It makes you worried that if they’re desperate enough to try kidnapping, they might try something more. 

You stop struggling against your ties when you hear vehicles pulling up outside, praying it’s someone to help you. 

The guys who captured you don’t seem prepared for an FBI raid, you can hear them running and shouting before you hear a few gunshots that make you jump. Suddenly, people are swarming the house and you hope desperately it’s Marcus’ team coming to your aid. 

The basement door opens and heavy footsteps start to descend, but you can’t tell who it might be. Someone shouts upstairs and the door slams shut again. You hear a few more shots and then silence that stretches on for far too long. The panic rises in your chest again and it’s all you can do not to lose it. 

With a loud bang, the door slams open again and several people come down the stairs in a row, taking off in different directions. You flinch hard when a pair of hands grab you and then your blindfold is pulled off and you see Marcus’ partner, Smith, looking down at you. He looks relieved and shouts for someone to get Agent Pike while he takes out a knife to work at the ropes holding your arms. 

“You’re okay,” he tells you, cutting as carefully as he can to avoid hurting you, “we’ll get you out of here.” Your arms fall to your sides as the last bit of rope is cut away and then you see Marcus running toward you and you nearly burst into tears. He’s on his knees beside you in an instant, quickly untying the gag from your mouth and telling you to breathe once it’s off. His hands are roaming your body, making sure there’s nothing else to worry about. Marcus rubs your hands with his, trying to coax feeling back into them. He helps you stand up and guides you over to one side of the room, making way for the other agents to move around. 

“It’s all over now,” he reassures you, rubbing up and down your arms now that you can wiggle your fingers. He moves your head side to side and makes you follow his phone flashlight with your eyes, checking for a concussion as best he can. When you open your mouth to try to tell him you’re fine, the hit to your head was hours ago, your split lip starts bleeding again and you wince. Marcus’ eyes darken for a second when the blood starts dripping down your chin and he pulls out a kleenex from his suit pocket to press against the cut. 

The basement is fucking freezing and you can’t help the shudder that rolls through your body from the temperature and the adrenaline rushing out of your body. Marcus pulls away from you to get rid of the tissue and you nearly lose your balance, feeling dead on your feet. Big, warm hands are on your shoulders now, holding you upright. Marcus ducks his head down to catch your eyes and says, 

“Hey, look at me,” when you do, he continues very seriously, “you’re safe now, you’re okay.” You nod and let Marcus pull you into his embrace, holding you as close as he can given the circumstances. 

You close your eyes and breathe in his familiar cologne and you can’t stop your hands from trembling as they grip the back of his suit jacket. Tears fill your eyes and you try your best to weep quietly. Marcus tightens his arms around you when he feels your tears splash against his neck. He whispers in your ear, 

“You’re so strong, I’m so proud of you.” The onslaught of emotions won’t stop and you want to tell him you don’t feel very strong. You can’t seem to get a handle on yourself, but it’s okay because Marcus is here to keep you steady. 

“Shh, sweetheart,” he soothes, resting his cheek on top of your head in a mirror of last night, “I’ve got you.” Swallowing hard, you’re finally able to slow the tears down to sniffs muffled against the collar of his shirt.

Other agents are still scrambling around, packaging up the stolen artwork that was sitting all around you, marking it for evidence to take back to the bureau. A newbie approaches the two of you and asks quietly, 

“Uh, Agent Pike? Sir?” 

Marcus begrudgingly lifts his face from your hair and asks, 

“Yes?”

The newbie stumbles over his words, 

“Um…the local police and the, uhh, newspaper want to talk to the person in charge, sir.” 

You tense in Marcus’ arms and think you’ll really lose it if he lets go of you now. Thankfully, he’s feeling the same way because he rubs your back reassuringly and says, 

“Smith can do it.” 

The newbie tries to argue with him, but Marcus stays firm, 

“Smith is my partner, he knows just as much as I do and I am not leaving my girlfriend alone after what she’s been through today.” 

He tries again, but Marcus shuts him down with a sharp, 

“I am not leaving her, go get Smith!”

That finally send the new guy running and Marcus presses his lips to your hair before he says, 

“Let’s get out of here, baby, let’s get you home.” He leads the way out of the house and holds your hand all the way to his car. You feel so exhausted, you let him help you in and even buckle your seat belt for you. He stops once you’re buckled and takes your face in his hands gingerly for a moment before he leans in and kisses your forehead. You both stay still for several seconds before Marcus closes your door and gets into the driver’s seat. 

His hand is a steadying presence on your thigh during the drive and eventually you look over at him and see the worry lines still etched in his forehead. 

“Marcus,” you whisper, not sure if you should break the silence or not. He keeps his eyes on the road but flips his hand over so he can lace his fingers with yours. He hums to let you know he heard you and you ask tentatively, 

“Are you okay?” You watch as his eyebrows furrow and he thinks about your question. 

“Not really,” he says with a shrug that tries to be nonchalant, but the way he squeezes your hand tells you more about how he’s really feeling. He sighs, making the turn onto your street before he confesses, 

“I thought I could keep you safe from my side of the job, but clearly I can’t.” 

Now your eyebrows are furrowing because you never once considered blaming Marcus for what happened today. He wasn’t even at the office. And then it dawned on you: He wasn’t at the office today. Now you get it, now you know why he’s feeling that way. 

“Marcus,” you say, pulling his arm up to hug it against your chest, “it’s not your fault. That never even crossed my mind.” 

You think he’s going to move out of your grip so he can park in one of your designated spots, but he manages it with one hand. Any other day you’d comment on how impressive that is but it doesn’t feel like the right moment. 

“Let’s go inside,” he says quietly and you kiss his hand before you let it go so he can climb out. While you’re getting out, Marcus grabs two bags from the backseat and you notice when you round the car that one of them is yours. Your hand reaches out and touches it and you ask, 

“How did you get this?” Marcus stares at the bags in his hands and answers you almost in a whisper, 

“I found it in the parking garage.” You look up at him and your eyes go wide when you see that his lip is wobbling like he might cry. Quickly, you grab his arm and usher him to the door, taking his keys from him to let you both in, and you drag him to the couch without breaking pace. Once he’s seated, you take the bags and toss them onto an armchair. You kick your shoes off carelessly before you kneel next to him on the couch, peeling off his suit jacket for him. 

“Marcus,” you say again to get his attention and he looks up at you with the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. Your chest gets impossibly tight as you bring a hand up to caress his face. 

“What happened today is not your fault,” you tell him, stroking his jaw with your thumb. His lip trembles again and he drops his eyes from yours before he says, 

“I thought for a second today that I might lose you. Or that you might get hurt. And I couldn’t stop thinking that if I’d been there, if I could’ve walked you to your car, they wouldn’t have been able to get to you.” 

He has tears slowly rolling down his face now and you lean in closer so you can press your forehead against his. 

“Honey,” you whisper, not feeling the need to talk any louder, “it’s still not your fault. How could you have known?” Marcus sniffles and moves his head down so he can hide his face in your neck. You thread your fingers through his hair and you wedge your other arm under his so you can hold him. His own hands have slipped under your shirt, pressing hard against your back like he needs to feel you under his fingers to know you’re real. 

Neither of you speak for a while and eventually you shuffle so you can get off your knees and sit more comfortably. Marcus doesn’t let go, just lets you move him as you adjust and settle into the couch cushions. He clings to you and you’re more than happy to let him. Other than the few kisses you press against the side of his head, you’re content to stay still and just feel him against you. His tears stop fairly quickly and you know he’s ready to speak again when you feel his lips brush against your neck. 

“I can’t lose you,” he says, once he has the strength. You hug him harder and promise, “You won’t, I’m not going anywhere.” 

It wouldn’t have bothered you to stay in your spot for hours if he wanted, but your stomach growls loudly and Marcus chuckles, lifting his head to look at you. 

“There’s pizza in the fridge?” he offers and you nod, taking the hand he offers to pull you up off the couch. You stop to slip out of your shoes and your button up shirt, leaving you in just your tank top and skirt as you enter the kitchen. Marcus holds the pizza box out behind him and you grab it, setting it on the counter as he pulls out two water bottles and closes the fridge. 

He sets a bottle in front of you before he opens the box and hands you a cold slice, ever the gentleman. You thank him and lean back against the counter while you eat. Marcus joins you and you find you’re hungrier than you thought and both of you end up eating three slices. 

As he’s putting the box back in the fridge, Marcus tells you, 

“I think I might have tipped the pizza guy like fifty dollars on accident.” You giggle at him and say, 

“Well you probably made his night.” Marcus laughs, then his expression drops suddenly, causing you to frown and reach out to touch his arm. He glances up at you and you raise your eyebrows at him in a silent question. 

“It wasn’t really out of the goodness of my heart,” he confesses, squeezing his eyes shut, “I was on the phone with the guys that took you and I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I just handed him whatever was in my wallet and slammed the door.” 

You’ve moved closer to him while he talks and you wrap your hand around his bicep, squeezing the muscle before you lean your head against his shoulder. You can feel him sigh before he slumps down enough to rest his head on yours in return. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper after a few minutes have passed. Marcus slips his arm out of your grasp so he can sling it around your shoulders and tuck you into his side before he retorts, 

“If it’s not my fault, it’s definitely not your fault either.” 

“I know,” you assure him, “but I just wish you didn’t have to go through that.”

One of his fingers hooks under your chin and lifts your gaze up to meet his warm, unfailingly kind eyes. 

“I would do it again right now,” he promises, holding your eye contact, “if it meant you’d be safe.” He’s so sincere, you have no choice but to believe him wholeheartedly. 

Marcus leans down and kisses you then, slow and careful. Any other time, you might tease him for treating you like you’re delicate, but your nerves are so fried that you can’t put up that wall right now. And you realize as he’s kissing you like this, tender and soft, that you can be fragile around Marcus. He won’t see the cracks in your glass heart and sneer or poke at them just to watch them splinter. His touch, his words, his kiss, his warmth cocoons your heart inside his own battered one. And you let him because you know your heart is safe with him, that you’re safe with him. 

He presses his lips firmly against yours once more before he breaks the kiss and rubs his nose against yours and asks, 

“You ready to go to bed?” 

When you shake your head he moves back a little look down at you in surprise. 

“I am so tired,” you say, swallowing hard, “but I’m afraid if I close my eyes for too long I’ll be back there.” You think he’s going to argue with you but he asks, 

“Wanna lay on the couch instead, maybe turn on a movie to distract you?” 

“You don’t mind?” 

Marcus shakes his head while he’s saying, “Of course not, baby, whatever you need.” 

The swell of affection you feel for this man is so strong it threatens to drown you. His willingness to sacrifice some of his own comfort so you can rest is almost too much to take after he’d done so much for you today. Marcus must notice your conflicting emotions on your face because he takes your hand and suggests that the two of you get comfortable before you settle down for the night. You nod and follow as he walks back to your bedroom. He turns to his dresser to find clothes to change into and you do the same, sliding a long shirt over your head and deciding to forgo pants. 

Marcus’ phone rings and he answers, you can tell by his tone it’s probably Smith, and you decide to go out to the living room to wait for him. You flip through the movie selections but you’re having a hard time deciding when your boyfriend rounds the corner, carrying pillows from your bed and wearing only pajama bottoms. He starts setting them up on one end of the sofa and you ask quietly, 

“Everything okay?” 

Marcus makes a face and turns to you, hands on his hips in what you’ve teased him looks like his thoughtful stance, and explains, 

“Well, they want us to come in tomorrow to debrief. I tried to argue for more time, but apparently since they’ve got the guys in custody they want to get it all finished up on our side tomorrow.” 

He sits down heavily on the cushion next to you and waits for your reaction. You twist your hands together in your lap; it’s not like you didn’t know you’d have to give a statement, probably more than one. But the idea of having to recount your experience again makes you want to crawl under the couch and never come back out. 

“They won’t let you be in there while they take my statement will they?” you ask, fairly certain of the answer. Marcus shakes his head to confirm your fears but promises, 

“Not in the room, but they do want me to listen in. So I’ll be behind the window right next to you. I won’t leave you alone.” 

You look over and his expression is deadly serious. Truthfully, Marcus may not let you out of his sight for a while after what you went through today. You don’t think you’ll fight him on it, though. 

Marcus takes the remote out of your hand and selects a movie. It’s black and white, but you don’t really care anyway; you’re much more interested in watching him adjust the pillows he brought before he stretches out, tapping your side gently with his foot. When you turn your head he holds out his hand and says, 

“Come here.”

Without a word, you slide up his long body and lay your head on his chest. Marcus turns the tv volume low before he yanks the blanket off the back of the couch to drape over both of you. One of his arms goes around your back, keeping you secure on top of him. The other arm he wiggles out of the blanket for airflow and also to rub circles into the base of your neck. He’s done that before when you had a bad headache and it makes your arms and legs feel tingly, like your nerve endings are lighting up with pleasure. 

Marcus is as comfortable as he is steady and you’ve never felt more cared for than you do in this moment. You press your lips to his chest and tell him,

“I love you so much.” Marcus sighs deeply, contentedly, and squeezes you, holding you as tight as he can. 

“I love you too,” he whispers, moving his hand back up to rub your neck again, “try to sleep, okay? I’ve got you.” 

You don’t have time to answer because you’ve drifted off, worn out from the harrowing day you’d had. Marcus stays awake for awhile, the movie still plays on, but his mind is turning. He still feels guilt rolling in the pit of his stomach even though he knows, logically, he couldn’t have done anything to prevent what happened. Tears sting his eyes again when he thinks of the sight of you, bound and gagged and hurt, on the floor of that dingy basement for hours. 

When he’d told you he was proud of you, he meant it. He made a mental note to tell you again tomorrow, because he doesn’t think he really got to express it properly. You handled everything, even his small breakdown, with a level-headedness that impressed the hell out of him. Marcus also knew from his brief stint in therapy after Lisbon, that you would probably have your own breakdown later. He processed things in the moment, you, he was learning, processed them after the fact. It worked pretty well, he thought, the both of you taking care of the other, trading responsibilities as you needed to. 

He must’ve been thinking too loudly because you mumbled something in your sleep before shuffling up his body a little to tuck your head into his neck before settling again, letting out a slow, warm breath against his skin. Marcus turned slightly to kiss your forehead before he allowed his own eyes to close, happy to have you safely in his arms for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after, more feelings surface for both you and Marcus.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you could barely see anything. It took your groggy brain a second to realize Marcus has rolled you both in his sleep so you're nestled between his body and the back of the couch. You can’t even really move your head back to look up at him with the way he’s wrapped around you and tucked you into him—not that you’re complaining. Marcus’ leg over your hip truly prevents you from even wiggling much, but you do manage to get one arm free so you can rub your hand up and down his back. Normally, he’s up first and the one watching you sleep but your nerves wouldn’t let you sleep any longer.

The comfort and closeness of his sleeping embrace allows you to push those thoughts aside for another few minutes at least. You’re grateful to have these few quiet moments with him, even if he’s unaware for right now. Your mind wanders to a year ago when you’d just moved to DC, just started your job at the bureau, didn’t know anyone. Even though you weren’t close with your family, you missed having any connections, anyone you could count on if something went wrong. Most nights you’d just grab takeout or make a simple meal and watch tv on your couch. It got lonely and boring really fast. 

Then suddenly, you’d started to become friends with your coworkers and getting invited out to drinks sometimes. It was still lonely in your apartment but it was getting better. Around the 5 month mark you’d met Marcus. You’d gotten your first promotion and increased responsibility over the data and evidence storage for a few specialized teams in the building. The art squad needed access to some archived files and you got called up to present it to them. 

As soon as you entered the meeting room that day, Marcus caught your eye and his polite, encouraging smile as you talked made your stomach flutter. You worked with them for a few days before being sent back to your desk on the floor below. It was hard to get Marcus off your mind; from the way he was kind and smiled at everyone to the authoritative tone in his voice when he was delegating to his team had you crushing on him hard. He was  _ hot  _ too and the way he thanked you sincerely for all your work, giving your hand a squeeze and maintaining eye contact with those deep brown eyes, had you floating on a cloud.

It took you by surprise when he showed up at your desk a few days later. You assumed it was about the case, but he put his hand over yours to get your attention before he said, 

“If you’re free tonight, I’d like to take you out.” Your mouth dropped open and he winked at you and said, 

“If I’m reading the room wrong, let me know. But I think you’re very pretty and I’d like to know more about you outside of work.” 

Fearing he might slip away and wake you from what had to be a dream, you’d nodded quickly, making him laugh, and told him that you’d love to. He insisted on picking you up at your place and took you to a nice-but-no-too-upscale Greek restaurant where all the food was served family style. He was so charming and down to earth and you were getting along so well that you didn’t even mind when he tried to feed you a bite of the spicier hummus and dropped the whole thing on the front of your dress. He looked mortified and you took the chance to lean in and kiss him on the cheek, promising you would be able to get the stain out later. 

When he dropped you at your place afterward, he asked if he could kiss you and you’d all but leapt into his arms instead of answering him outright. Once you’d parted, he asked for another date and you’d said yes, of course. This time, you took him to a showing of singing in the rain at a drive in outside the city, but you barely noticed the movie as you and Marcus spent most of it making out like teenagers in the back of your car. You asked him to stay the night that night and the two of you were attached at the hip ever since. 

You sighed, burying your head in Marcus’ chest and breathing him in slowly. Without Marcus, you weren’t sure how you would cope with what happened to you yesterday. It all felt like a bad dream except for your very real aches and pains from being roughed up and left tied to a pole for hours. You shivered at the thought and Marcus started to stir; you watched his eyes blink open slowly before he glanced down at you and a sleepy smile spread across his face. 

“Morning,” he said, his soft grin making you temporarily forget your troubling thoughts as you leaned up to press your lips to his softly, just a brush of contact but it settled you for the moment. Marcus squeezed you tight and you closed your eyes for a few long minutes, letting him hold you before you had to face the world again. He was always snuggly first thing in the morning, but it felt like this hug was purposeful, like he knew how anxious you already felt about today. You felt tears pricking your traitorous eyes at the gentle way his thumb stroked your arm, but you couldn’t let them fall just yet and ruin the moment. 

Much too soon, Marcus reached behind him with one arm and brought his phone between your bodies to check the time. It was a little after seven am and you were both expected at the bureau at nine. He sighed and met your gaze and asked, 

“You okay?” 

You didn’t even have to shake your head, the way your eyes shone told him all he needed to know. His heart ached to see the pain and fear creeping back into your expression. If he could, he’d take it all from you and shoulder it himself. But since he couldn’t do that, he kissed your forehead and offered, 

“I’ll make coffee since we won’t have time to stop okay?” 

“Okay,” you said and the way you swallowed back your emotions made Marcus want to cry. He couldn’t help kissing you again and whispering, 

“I love you.” 

You nodded against him and he knew you weren’t saying it back so you wouldn’t cry. He untangled himself from you and stood up, stretching tall as you rolled off the couch and grabbed the bed pillows, giving him a small smile as you informed him, 

“I need to shower but my hair can wait so I won’t take long.” He nodded and you both went your separate ways to get ready for the day. He had no idea about the tears that you let fall in the shower or the way you had to stop yourself from vomiting twice while you got dressed, looking at the welts and bruises from the day before. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him, you rationalized as you pulled on an oversized sweater and jeans, you just didn’t have  _ time _ . 

The sweater covered you completely and the early fall weather was a little too warm for it, but you felt like hiding and this was the best way to do it if you still had to be around people. Marcus walked in with two mugs of coffee as you were rummaging through your dresser for some socks and you thanked him for the coffee, made just like you liked it.

Once you’d found your socks and pulled out your boots to slip on before the two of you left, you sat cross legged on the bed to sip your coffee while he got ready. It warmed you up quickly, boosting your mood quite a bit as you drank it. Your mood got even better when Marcus emerged from the walk in closet wearing his tight white vneck shirt, dark jeans, and carrying his black leather jacket. He tossed the jacket on the bed before he slipped into the bathroom to fix his hair. You got up and leaned on the door frame, watching him with roaming eyes before you asked, 

“Are you trying the seduction method for getting the criminals to talk today?”

Marcus’ eyes shot up to meet yours in the mirror and you smirked at him, looking pointedly up and down his body. He shook his head at you and chuckled, smoothing his hair into place before he reached for his shaving gel. You quickly threw back the rest of your coffee and came up behind Marcus, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades. You made sure to stay still while he shaved so he wouldn’t cut himself, but once he was done, you let your hands wander under his shirt, rubbing across his stomach to feel his muscles jump under your hands. He gasped and said  _ Baby _ and you kissed his back, knowing he could feel it through his thin shirt. 

“We have to leave in twenty minutes,” he said, bracing his hands against the sink as your hands moved up to his chest, rubbing and exploring his skin. You knew he was right and you really couldn’t be late, so with one last squeeze, you let him go. But before you could leave the bathroom, Marcus grabbed your wrist and pulled you back for a bruising kiss and you melted against him, relishing the taste of his tongue on yours. But he released you just as quickly, leaving you gasping for air. He laughed at the playful glare you gave him and brushed past you to grab his jacket and shoes. 

“Hey, Marcus,” you said as the two of you were walking out the door and he turned to you as soon as the door was locked behind him, “remember when you asked earlier if I was okay?”

You had started down the stairs and he followed right behind you and replied, 

“Yeah I remember.”

“I’m not,” you told him truthfully, swallowing hard against another swell of emotion. You both got into his car and he started it before he said quietly, 

“I know,” and took your hand, balancing them both over the gear shift as he backed out of your parking space. 

“But please,” he asked, glancing at you briefly, “don’t keep it from me, okay? I want to help, honey.” 

“I promise I won’t,” you said, turning your head to watch him, “I’ll talk to you.” He smiled at that and didn’t complain when you leaned your head on his shoulder while he drove. The console dug into your side but you ignored it to soak up a little more Marcus before you were separated for most of the day. You figured you’d need all the strength you could get. 

…

After what felt like hours of going in circles, telling your story not once, not twice, but three times to the same agents your head was pounding and your throat was dry from talking so much. They ushered you into a too-bright room and asked you to remove your sweater so they could get photos of the bruising, only the photographer and one female agent stayed with you while you did that. 

Despite their efforts to make you comfortable, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d done something wrong by all the questions they’d asked you. It didn’t help that you were exhausted and more sore than yesterday and though Marcus did his best to stay with you, he was the lead agent on this case and had a lot to do. After your initial questioning, you’d seen him once and he’d only been able to squeeze your shoulder and promise you were doing great before he was whisked off to do his own questioning of the gang that had taken you. 

Once the photos were taken, you had to write your statement and when you asked, they promised this was the last thing for you to do today. Blessedly, the agents left you alone to do so, though you knew someone was probably observing through the two way glass. 

Desperate to be done, you started writing but only got two sentences out before your hands were shaking too badly to continue. Tears blurred your vision and suddenly you couldn’t breathe; all you could see in your mind was the inside of the van, the faces of the men who hurt you sneering at you, and the cold darkness of the basement. A little voice in your head was telling you this was a panic attack, but you couldn’t stop hyperventilating to listen to it. The lights in the room were suddenly unbearable and the only thing you could do was put your head on the table and close your eyes, hoping it would pass soon. 

A hand gently touched your arm and you flinched hard away from it. 

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice was trying to calm you down, but it wasn’t Marcus, “you’re okay. Can you look at me?” 

Slowly you were able to look up at the source of the voice and you realized it was Smith. Not who you’d prefer, but he made you feel slightly better regardless. As if he knew what you were thinking, Smith drug a chair around the table and sat next to you before he said, 

“I know I’m not Pike,” he laughed at himself and you sniffed and wiped at your eyes, struggling to take a deep breath, “but he went down to finish up in person questioning with a few witnesses.” Smith watched you carefully as you tried to slow your breathing and he asked, 

“Would some water help?” You nodded and he practically sprinted out of the room to get you some. When he returned, you were almost breathing normally and you gulped the water down as soon as he handed it to you. 

“I know you’re probably ready to be done right?” he asked, placing a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” you said, sounding defeated, “but I just can’t finish writing my statement and I have to do that before I can stop talking about it.” 

Immediately, Smith grabbed the pen and paper and said, 

“I know you’ve told it a million times but if you want to dictate it, I’ll write it for you and you can read and sign it before we turn it in?” He smiled at you and you agreed, you’d do anything to get a break. After you were done and the paper was signed, Smith dragged you up to the break room on their floor and made you take a sandwich and a bottle of juice before he deposited you in Marcus’s office. 

“Pike said to tell you he’s coming here as soon as he can to finish up his paperwork,” Smith looked at his watch and informed you, “he should be up here in half an hour or so okay?” You didn’t answer him, just pushed past him to plop down on the couch in the corner. 

Smith said your name and you looked over at him in the doorway before he told you, 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you did a great job today.” 

The sincerity in his tone made tears well up in your eyes again and Smith promised again that Marcus would be up soon and closed the door to give you some privacy while you waited. Even though your stomach felt empty, you could only manage a few bites of the sandwich before you felt queasy and tossed it in the trash. Thankfully Marcus kept some painkillers in his office and you were able to wash those down with the juice before sitting back down to stare at the carpet, wishing that you could just go home already. 

…

A full hour passed and you had nearly dozed off when the door to the office creaked open and  _ finally _ Marcus stepped in, looking as exhausted as you felt. He closed the door quickly behind him before turning to lean back against it with his eyes closed. From your perch on the couch, you watched as he rubbed his forehead and took a few deep breaths. 

Marcus loved his job, anyone who saw him in action could see that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly stressful at times. And as open and generous as Marcus was, he was still a leader at work. He still had to put on the brave face, careful not to show the cracks in his veneer to anyone he didn’t trust. Marcus trusted you, though, and you felt special in the moment to be the one he was vulnerable with. Just then, he looked up and met your eyes. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, offering you a small smile before neatly stacking the files he’d brought in with him on his desk. He walked over to you and you looked up at him and hoped your eyes were conveying how much you  _ didn’t _ want to talk at the moment. Marcus studied your face before locking his eyes on yours again with his intense gaze that had first attracted you to him. Even the first day you met him you felt like he could see past your work face and into your soul. Like he was doing now. 

“I’ve still got to go through those before we head out,” he told you, waving his hand towards the files, “shouldn’t take me another hour at most.” 

“Okay,” came your small reply. The one word felt like all you could manage at present. Your boyfriend turned around briefly and rummaged through a drawer before he produced a plain but soft-looking blanket. He put one of the couch pillows on the arm rest and adjusted you so you were leaning against it and nodded when you automatically bent your knees to tuck your feet up onto the couch. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, tucking the blanket around you loosely before he leaned in and pecked your forehead with his lips. You kind of felt like he was babying you, but you were so mentally worn out it didn’t matter. It was nice, actually, to let him coddle you for now.

“You just rest,” Marcus said, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “no one’s watching you in here you can relax.” At his words, you felt your shoulders drop in relief. Of course Marcus would be able to pinpoint your unease with the two-way glass situation in the room earlier. He had been the one watching after all. 

“Thank you,” you said sincerely and he winked at you before going back to his desk and starting on his files. 

At first, you tried to do as Marcus suggested by closing your eyes and attempting to breathe deeply. Unfortunately, your mind had other ideas and your racing thoughts nearly made you have a second panic attack. You weren’t sure if Marcus even knew about the first one, so you tamped that down and forced yourself to blank out, to think about nothing at all.

Or, at least, you tried. For a long while, you focused on the pattern in the carpet and counted the different shapes to distract yourself. After the thirtieth triangle, however, your thoughts wandered again and you felt cold, so cold. Your body was going numb again just like it had yesterday. The ropes were once again burning against your skin, rubbing raw where you’d struggled. It was getting hard to swallow and you flinched so hard you nearly fell when the loud  _ brring! brring! brring!  _ of Marcus’ desk phone rang out before he answered it with a polite, “Agent Pike speaking” and you sat up, shoving the blanket off hurriedly. 

You knew Marcus was looking at you as he spoke into  the phone, 

“Yep, all done, I’ll leave them outside my office for you sir.” 

He hung the receiver up with a click and you could still feel his eyes on you. He said your name and you turned your head to face him, a decision you regretted immediately when you saw the concern written all over his face. There wasn’t much point to pushing down how you were feeling anymore so you got up and walked over to him. Marcus stayed in his seat and watched you approach, but he did ask, 

“What do you need?” 

You swallowed hard around the sudden lump in your throat and blinked tears out of your eyes. The swell of emotion made you stop moving temporarily, but Marcus didn’t get up. 

“Tell me,” he implored softly, and when you looked at him again his expression was so full of affection and admiration and  _ love _ that you knew you could do it. You could tell him about your fear and your numbness and your exhaustion. He’d made room for all of that and more when he told you he loved you the first time; he’d said it because he had room in his heart for you and everything that came with loving you. He asked because he wanted to know. 

“P-please,” you stammered out, finally able to make it the last few steps to stand in front of him. 

“Please what?” he asked in the gentlest tone you’d ever heard. 

“Please, Marcus,” you breathed out, more tears blinding your vision, “please hold me.” 

Without hesitation, he opened his arms and you collapsed into him. The force of your sobs was greater than you realized, but Marcus was ready for them. He helped you get situated on his lap and wrapped a strong arm around your hips to keep you steady. He used his other hand to hold your head against him, again stroking your face tenderly with his thumb. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, holding you tight just like you’d asked, “you can let it out, you’re safe.” 

So you did; you cried and cried and cried until you felt like you couldn’t anymore. There was a lot more than sadness you were releasing and Marcus could feel when the tears shifted from sad to angry to scared. You clung to him, whimpering as you shook through the last ones, feeling like you wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. His heart ached when you were finally able to tell him how you felt: how you couldn’t stop thinking about the cold and the dark and the worry that they might have hidden you too well. The fear that they might hurt you more in their desperation to get what they wanted. 

“Hey,” Marcus said, still holding you as tight as he could, “I would have found you. I wouldn’t have let them hurt you anymore, baby.”

And you knew he was telling the truth. Marcus was a great agent with a great team, they wouldn’t have given up. He was always going to find you. 

It was that thought that allowed you to start to calm down and you nuzzled your face against Marcus’ shoulder. He bent his head down and pressed his lips to your cheek, inhaling and exhaling against your skin. You had no desire to move so you didn’t and neither did Marcus. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered to you, rubbing his nose along your hairline, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I want to keep you forever if you’ll let me.” 

He wasn’t proposing per say (he was still a little gun shy after last time) but the sentiment wasn’t lost on you. 

“You can keep me,” you told him, kissing his neck lightly, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

…

The rest of the day passed uneventfully and you were very grateful. It was late afternoon by the time you got home so you both decided early dinner was the way to go since neither of you had much time to eat. Marcus said he would order Chinese but needed a shower first. While he was preoccupied, you watered the house plants and put away the pile of laundry that you’d been neglecting all week. Marcus had told you to rest but you couldn’t right now, your brain was buzzing and the last thing you wanted to do was sit quietly with your thoughts. 

Marcus came out of the bathroom in a towel and frowned at the back of your head, why were you doing chores? He spoke up and asked why and you didn’t turn around before you replied, 

“It needs to get done anyway.”

Pulling his pajama pants back on from last night, Marcus continued frowning when he said, 

“But honey, it can wait until you feel better, or I can do it.” 

Taking a deep breath, you turned around to see his expression and you felt guilty immediately, like you’d somehow disappointed him by folding clothes. 

“I,” you started, feeling incredibly frustrated by how  _ hard _ it was to just say what you meant, “I just can’t sit by myself and think I need,” you swallowed hard and looked up to see your boyfriend’s gaze soften and he sunk down on the floor next to you and the half-folded basket of clothes. His hand reached out for yours and he squeezed reassuringly. 

“What do you need, angel?” he asked, raising your intertwined hands to kiss your knuckles. 

“Ummm,” you stuttered, suddenly losing your train of thought, “a distraction?” 

Marcus hummed and leaned forward until he was almost kissing you but stopped short to inform you, 

“I can distract you, if you want.” 

Your quick, desperate nod was all he needed to close the gap and press his lips to yours. You immediately clung to him, needing to feel  _ something  _ besides fear and pain for a few minutes. Marcus pulled back from your kiss far too soon and you whined, but he just pulled you up to your feet and motioned for you to get on the bed. He waited for you to lay down and then climbed up to hover over you and said, 

“Sorry, baby, my knees can’t take the floor anymore.” 

“Marcus,” you huffed, frowning up at him, “just come here and kiss me  _ please _ .” 

He complied with your request without another word and he was achingly gentle with you. For once, you let him be because you were sore and he was tired and both of you just needed to feel connected, to feel loved. And you were never more sure of how much Marcus loved you then when he was soft with you. It amazed you how a man who’d experienced so much stress and heartbreak in his life was able to give himself so kindly to you, but he managed it anytime you needed it. 

Eventually, he laid down beside you and pulled the comforter up over you both, snuggling close to you and grinning at you when you swung your leg over his hip to pull him even closer. 

“Thank you,” you said, leaning your forehead against his. 

“No need to thank me,” he said, running his hand up and down your back soothingly. 

“I know,” you said, rubbing your nose against his to make him laugh, “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Marcus sighed, deep and content, and opened his eyes to look at you. Neither of you said anything for a second, but the intensity of his gaze told you what you needed to know: he loved you. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered at the devotion swirling in his dark eyes. 

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his nose. 

Marcus squeezed you tighter at your admission and you moved to tuck your head under his chin. You felt more than heard him take another deep breath, his warm exhale fanning over your skin and settling your further. 

“You know what we should do?” He asked, voice slightly muffled from the way his face was smushed into your hair. 

“What?” you asked, forcing yourself to open your eyes so you wouldn’t drift off while he was talking. 

“You know that cabin I’ve been telling you about?” 

“The one your aunts own?” 

“Yeah,” Marcus said, sounding sleepy himself, “let’s go tomorrow.” 

You had to push back a little and look up at him to ask, 

“What? Really?” 

Marcus nodded and said, 

“Yeah, we both have a few days off to recover. And it’s kind of out there…” he waggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, “we’d have lots of time to ourselves.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics and you kissed him again before you replied, 

“I’d love that, babe.” 

“Good,” Marcus said definitively, “rest for a little bit before we need to pack. Because I am not gonna let you rest that much once we get there. I know you’ve missed me.” 

Of course Marcus could read you like an open book by now, he was FBI after all. You felt yourself grow warm at his declaration and suddenly, you weren’t nearly so tired. Without warning, you shoved Marcus onto his back and hoisted yourself up so you were straddling his hips. 

“On second thought,” you told him, grabbing both his hands and leaning forward so your face hovered right above his with your intertwined hands pressing into the bed on either side of his head, “I’m not that tired.” 

Marcus’ eyes widened and he looked up at you and said almost pleadingly, 

“Kiss me again.”

And you were all too happy to oblige. 


End file.
